


and I know for you it's always me

by compunctious



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Enjoy!, Fluff, Hopefully., I mean the cute part, It's a bit rushed at the end, M/M, ahaha okay, cute proposal, feedback is always appreciated!, hopefully, i'll edit this as soon as i have inspiration, i'll shut up, larry stylinson - Freeform, oh there's larry never mind, what am I doing with my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 15:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2626403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compunctious/pseuds/compunctious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Louis and Harry have known each other since they were sixteen, eat poorly baked souffles together, and dream of a quaint little house and a little person running around with her two daddies chasing her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and I know for you it's always me

The night is far from perfect; the sky is draped in forlorn clouds, there’s a zing in the fierce wind that is usually accompanied by a clothes-scattering thunderstorm and the lights in the room are flickering uneasily.

Maybe Louis should have made it less obvious that he is fiddling with something in his pocket; something distinctly loop-like, made of gold and peppered with small diamonds. But he doesn’t- can’t. Besides, Harry knows him inside out. It’s only a matter of time before he realises.

Louis is definitely trembling. He tries his best to keep his voice guarded while looking out of the window and complaining about the terrible weather. He is also slightly irritated. So much for his plans for taking Harry out to the restaurant where they had had their disastrous first date and-

‘Lou?’ Harry asks, startling Louis. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Yeah, why...  why wouldn’t it be?’ Louis is horrified to find that his voice has come out an octave higher than usual. Of course Harry notices.

Harry puts a hand on Louis’ shoulder. ‘You’re shaking.’ His hands move up to Louis’ cheek, and a shiver goes down the older boy’s spine. This really shouldn’t be happening. They are supposed to be sitting at a table facing the sunset, Harry looking all gorgeous, the waiter bringing them champagne, Louis tripping over his words, Harry going wide-eyed, then smiling, then crying, then saying yes.

Louis looks into Harry’s eyes, gulping down the lump that seems to suddenly have formed in his throat. ‘I’m just sort of disappointed. I was really looking forward to tonight.’

Harry sighs, one of his curls falling on to his forehead. He doesn’t brush it away. ‘Me too, although I would rather not be ripped apart by the storm that’s due to arrive in,’- he checks his watch, pretending to frown- ’10 minutes or so.’

Louis lets out a throaty laugh, and prays Harry doesn’t realise that it sounded borderline maniacal. He is positively freaking out.

‘Meanwhile,’ Harry says, pulling him closer by grasping his collar. ‘I’m sure we can find a way to make you... _undisapponted._ ’

Louis gets it. He wants it. But he can’t help but clear his throat (quite obnoxiously, too) when Harry’s lips are a breath away from his.

Harry frowns for real this time. ‘Are you alright? Do you want something hot to drink? You sound weird.’

Louis manages to nod. Harry moves away, and out of the room. Louis wipes his sweaty palms on his fairly expensive coat. He stumbles to the doorway to see Harry heading towards the kitchen.

 _That boy._ It’s times like these when Louis genuinely feels like he’s not good enough for Harry. No matter how many times Harry tells him that his blue eyes are truly special and his jokes are truly shitty, Louis has always thought of himself as the lucky one; lucky enough to have his fingers threaded in chocolate -coloured curls, lucky enough to kiss that pair of lips every night, lucky enough to look through those green eyes and see his soul. Because not everybody gets to experience Harry Styles the way Louis does. And when Louis does, everything in the world- every flower, every ray of the sun, every beautiful piece of art- dims by comparison.

He isn’t sure he deserves Harry thinking about him the same way, even though he has always been assured of the same.

Harry has always been there for Louis. Right from their first attempt at cooking together (which ended up with Louis almost burning the house down) to their first time at trying to decipher Robert Frost poetry and to now, as Harry relentlessly gives all of himself to cure Louis’ sore throat which isn’t even a sore throat.

_Louis loves Harry. Louis wants to marry Harry. Louis wants to have children with Harry. Beautiful, beautiful children._

But right now, Louis has to take care of the situation, as Harry rummages in their cupboards for ingredients to make tea, most probably.

 _This is it._ _Screw the perfect setting. Screw moonlit nights and candlelight dinners. He will do this sitting in a pile of dirt if it comes to that. Everything about them is dirty anyway._

He rubs his hands on his coat one last time and steps out of the room. Harry looks over as he enters the kitchen, and he smiles, albeit nervously.  

‘Harry,’ He begins to say, but Harry interrupts him with a ‘Shush!’ and a wave of his finger.

‘Don’t say a word. I don’t want you to lose your voice.’ He chides. Louis walks over to the kitchen counter, shifting his weight onto the cold metal. _One less thing for his feet to do._

‘So, what’re you doing?’ He asks, choosing to ignore the outraged look in Harry’s eyes.

Harry, apparently, chooses not to comment. He just rummages through the cupboard some more.

‘Babe.’ Louis knows Harry can’t resist that one.

‘Yeah?’ Harry says with his head still in the cupboard.

‘Just use the tea bags.’

Harry lets out an audible sigh. ‘Of course. Stupid me.’

_Adorable him._

Louis wants nothing more than the taste of his tea-stained lips right now, but he’s going to have to wait. Because the crappy tea -bag tea hasn’t even been made yet, and he can’t risk losing it while kissing him and throwing up. Or something.

Something has to be done about the ring in his pocket. _Now._

‘Harry,’ He says his name, loving the way a small grin spreads over the other boy’s face. ‘Come here.’

‘In a minute,’ Harry says, getting the tea-bags out and putting some milk on the stove to boil. He finishes up and, walks over to Louis and gives him another heart-stopping smile. ‘Yeah?’

Louis gulps. ‘I kinda wanted to talk.’

Harry’s smile wavers. Just a little bit, but Louis notices it. ‘About?’

‘About us.’

Harry looks at Louis- a long look he can’t seem to decipher- and gestures to the dining table. ‘Let’s sit.’

Louis obliges.

They sit at the table, giving each other long, nervous looks.

Louis clears his throat. ‘Have you thought about the... the future?’

Harry looks taken aback. It clearly isn’t what he expected. ‘Future...as in?’

‘Us. Us future.’

His smile appears again; this time it’s warm and easy and comforting. ‘Yes, Lou. I have. In a lot of detail, actually.’

‘Can you...tell me about it?’

Harry’s long legs have no trouble nudging Louis’ under the table, and he reaches out to take his hand. Louis expects him to look at the ceiling and talk in a dreamy way, but he doesn’t. He looks him dead in the eye, and when he speaks, he speaks with confidence and his voice is steady.

‘I imagine us together. Until we’re so old that we can’t walk anymore and we need to use sticks. I picture us on a porch and Gemma still fussing over us even though she’s an old hag and a bunch of our kids and grandkids sitting around us and we’re a happy family and we’re eating an apple pie that our daughter baked. To be honest, it’s quite shitty, but she’s our daughter and we love her so-‘

Louis lets out a laugh. ‘God, Harry. You’re ridiculous.’

‘Go big or go home.’ Harry deadpans.

‘I’d go home with you.’

Harry laughs this time, and Louis wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him until they’re both breathless and-

Suddenly, Harry sits up. ‘The milk!’

Before Louis can react, he runs up to the kitchen and judging by the ‘Thank God!’ things didn’t go too wrong.

The wind is rattling their windows, and Louis’ throat is dry. He _could_ do with some tea. And some of the healing magic from Harry Styles’ kisses.

Harry comes back with a pot of milk in one hand, a couple of tea bags tucked carefully between his long fingers, and he holds two wineglasses by their stems in the other hand. Louis’ eyebrows go up without volition.

Harry catches him in the action, dimples appearing in his cheeks. ‘I’m so fancy, you already know.’

Louis shakes his head in disbelief, unable to hold in his laughter. ‘Harry, Harry, Harry-‘

‘Say my name one more time, and I’ll have to drop all of this and snog your face off right now. Then you’ll have to clean up this mess.’ Harry says smugly.

Louis shuts up immediately. Harry’s shoulders slump. ‘I was rather hoping you’d say my name.’

Louis shrugs. ‘The cleaning part turned me off.’

Harry sets the glasses on the table and pours the milk into them, humming while he does so. Meanwhile, Louis can’t stop staring.

_He’s beautiful._

He’s had that thought a billion times since he met Harry, and it never fails to amaze him.

_He needs to take out that ring. He needs to slide it onto his long finger. He needs him to say yes. He needs to grow some-_

Louis is distracted by the sound of Harry launching into a chorus of ‘Break Free’ while rhythmically sloshing the tea bags around in the milk.

_Oh my. Oh my. Oh my._

Louis decides to join. He knows he’s horrible but Harry’s gorgeous voice is enough to make up for it.

Harry waltzes over to Louis and takes his hand, clumsily spinning him around until both the boys have lost all sense of direction and sanity and are drowning in unrestricted laughter and pure, innocent love.

‘Louis- Lou!’ Harry manages between chuckles. Louis raises his eyebrows as Harry takes him in his arms and dips, both ending up in a typical pose from a dance movie. ‘We should drink our tea.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Louis says solemnly, while he would’ve preferred to stumble around some more and call it ‘dancing’.

They hold each other by the waist and walk over to the dining table again (they’ve strayed quite far from it) and in a heartbeat, everything goes black.

Louis doesn’t register it for the first two seconds and-

‘Ouch!’

‘Lou?  Louis? What’s wrong- Gah!’

There is a crash that sounds loudly, completely disregarding the raging storm outside. Louis almost steps on what he knows are splinters of glass. ‘Harry, don’t move!’

‘I’m not moving! I think that was the wineglasses.’

Louis rolls his eyes in the dark. ‘ _I’m so fancy,_ ’ he mocks. ‘ _You already know_.’

‘I would kiss you, except it’s dark and I might end up licking the dining table or something.’

‘Licking-‘

‘Okay, wait. Let’s figure out what to do with all this glass. We don’t have a light...’

And there’s Harry. Always the rational one. Louis’ eyes are beginning to get used to the dark, and he can see the outlines of Harry’s features.

‘Candles.’ Louis suggests.

‘Of course! Um, where are they?’

‘The cupboard where you found the tea bags.’ Louis replies.

‘And matches?’

‘Uh, I don’t know.’

‘Great. What about a torch?’

‘Er-‘

‘Lou, this is why you should let me-‘

‘Never mind,’ Louis interrupts. ‘Let’s see what we can do. Maybe we can push the glass under the table or something. My socks are pretty thick.’

‘I’m not wearing socks.’                Harry says.

‘-Which is why I’m going to save the day!’ Louis grins. He reaches his foot out, taking Harry’s ‘Be careful, Lou’ as an attempt to not let Louis do the day-saving, and gently shoves the glass to the space below the dining table.

‘Oh God, your carpet’s ruined, Lou.’ Harry interjects.

Louis shrugs it off, saying that he could just buy a new one. He’s beginning to get tired of this colour anyway. When he’s positive that all the glass has been moved out of the way, he nudges Harry and says, ‘All done.’

‘Where’s your cheek?  Or your lips, I don’t really mind. I just don’t wanna end up-‘

‘Calm it, Styles.’ Louis says. ‘Let’s wait till the lights come back on. We don’t want any accidents.’

‘Louis-‘

‘I think it’s safe for us to sit, if you don’t want to stress out those stunning legs of yours.’ Louis says, hoping Harry can’t see his flushed face in the dark.

Harry sighs and says, ‘Alright. So we sit on the ground?’

‘Yep.’

They lower themselves to the floor at the same time, using their hands on each other’s waists as support.

‘What? Fu-‘

‘Oh no!’

‘Harry!’

‘Lou, didn’t you realise that there would be _milk_ along with the broken glass?’

‘Didn’t _you_ realise that?’

The milk hasn’t quite been soaked up by the carpet, so it’s sticky and disgusting and they’re both sitting in spilt milk.  

‘You’re the one acting like you’re smart and _you know everything_ -‘

Louis laughs. Harry gapes. Then he laughs. Both of them are rolling on the floor (and in split milk) and laughing so hard that tears are coming out of their eyes. Self-depreciating laughter is the best kind of laughter when you have someone to share it with, someone who did something just as stupid.

‘Lou, this is absurd and I love it!’ Harry says between bursts of giggles.

Louis is overwhelmed with affection for the boy in front of him; his smiles are always contagious and always have Louis feeling like the luckiest man in the world. But as Harry moves closer and closer to Louis, he realises something. Something so important that makes Louis giddy with relief and although he knows that he’ll have insecurities again, nothing else matters at this moment.

_Harry loves him._

And what if he doesn’t say yes? They’ll work something out; Louis is sure of that. Because they love each other too deeply to stop caring after a declined proposal.

‘Harry.’ Louis is aware of his lips moving and forming the words. ‘You should marry me.’

The room is dead silent for a second. The storm stops storming. Harry stops laughing. The world stops breathing.

Louis’ eyes are still closed. Some part of him thinks that he should have chosen his words more carefully, but he also thinks that these very ones came out on purpose.

Then the storm begins its tantrums once again. Harry lets out a breath. His hand reaches for Louis’ cheek.

‘Louis, did you hear what you just said?’

Louis nods, his eyes still squeezed shut.

‘Louis.’

‘Yeah?’

‘You asked me- you _told_ me to marry you while we’re rolling around in milk.’

Louis cracks one eye open. ‘It’ll be a nice story to tell the kids?’

‘Louis.’ Harry repeats.

‘Harry, please. I wanted to do it at the restaurant where I spilled that spaghetti on my stupid suit and you laughed and you kissed me and I’m completely in love with you and nothing can change that and I want us to have adorable grandchildren and,’- Louis’ speech wavers when he notices that Harry is still staring at him-‘I love you?’

‘Yes.’ His whisper is so faint that Louis has to double check.

‘What?’                                                                                                                                     

‘Yes, you idiot!’

Louis can’t find his voice.

‘I said yes, you amazing human being! Now respond!’ Harry raps his knuckles against Louis’ cheek.

Time stops. Louis’ heart stops.

And then in one glorious moment, everything starts spinning in the most fantastic way possible and the world bursts into full colour even though the room is as dark as the horrible night outside and he said yes, he said yes, _he said yes_.

‘Harry-‘Louis chokes out and collapses in his arms, laughing and crying all at once.

Harry holds him tighter than ever; it feels like tiny fireworks exploding in his head and _he just wants Harry’s lips to press his forehead, his cheek, then his lips._

‘I love you.’ Harry says. ‘I love you, Lou. I love you.’

Louis should be worried about the repetition of words. He should be kissing Harry breathless. He should be taking the ring out of his pocket. _He should be cleaning up the milk._ But he’s the same way Harry is, just mumbling the same words over and over, the meaning escalating- doubling, tripling- with every time.

Louis’ hands find his way to his pocket, somehow. Maybe it’s because of all the times he has involuntarily reached for the ring, unconsciously toying with it whenever he is nervous.

The ring tumbles out of its own accord before Louis can even reach it, and finds its way to Harry. He picks it up, gasping in what is shock or surprise, Louis isn’t sure.

‘Lou. Oh, Louis.’ Harry hands it back to Louis, who carefully slips it on Harry’s ring finger.

And there it is. Harry Styles to-be-Tomlinson. That quick, really. Because the good things in life seem so fleeting, so swift, that holding on to them seems like the last thing Louis would do, the last thing he’d breathe for. And Harry is worth every single effort, every single fight, every lazy Sunday morning, every minute seemingly wasted while watching movies with him on the couch.

Louis is sure they’re going to have an argument about the last name, but he decides not to worry about it now. He settles for kissing Harry.

Kissing him like there’s no tomorrow, like all the world would burn if their lips didn’t meet, like his lips were the breath of oxygen, the difference between life and death.

Harry’s hand traces his cheekbone, and freezes. He pulls away, albeit reluctantly.

‘Lou,’ He says gently. ‘You’re crying.’

Louis can’t help but laugh. ‘They’re happy tears.’

‘You’re happy?’

‘Hell, I could die of happiness.’

‘We don't want that to happen, do we?’ Harry says, and leans back in, resuming the fireworks display only they can see.

_They would fight. They would shout and scream. They would walk out. They would cry. They would come back. They would bake cakes. They would ice them clumsily. They would go to Paris-_

Harry pulls away once again.

‘What’s it this time?’ Louis says, pretending to be annoyed.

‘What about the wedding date? And the invitations? Mum would-‘

‘Styles,’ Louis says firmly. ‘Shut up.’ He presses his lips to his fiancé’s, and they’re back in their world- just Louis and Harry making a new memory that they would cherish forever.

_Harry’s marrying him. He’s marrying Harry._

It’s not sweet. It’s not innocent. It’s pure fire.

They don’t even notice that the lights have come back on.

 

 

 

                                                

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'll edit this later i promise bye!


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